First Semester

by Jace Mitchell

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” Jack cut in again.

  Dr. Byron stopped in his tracks and pointed at him. “Mister Teams, unless you can provide me with a note stating you have some neurological condition that prevents you from allowing your intellectual betters to impart wisdom to you, I will politely suggest you do not interrupt this lecture again.”

  Byron raised a bushy eyebrow at Jack and continued in the next breath. “We believe that around the age when people are leaving the construct of their parents’ rule, their ability to accept the unexpected peaks. This means their minds are flexible enough that they are able to see these creatures. So, people going to college or entering the workforce. People leaving home for the first time.” He held up a finger to emphasize his point. “The common factor in all of these situations is that the person is placed in a situation where they are given power over their own lives. But, as I’m sure some of you are aware, power comes with responsibility. In this case, the responsibility of finding self and discovering the world without the innocence of childhood to filter out the truth of things. All of these factors create the perfect environment for the brain to be receptive to the true nature of the Mythers. Why else do you see so much ‘radical’ thought on college campuses? It’s the first time people are exposed to complete freedom.”

  “And what happens at twenty-three?” Claire asked.

  Dr. Byron nodded at Marissa. “You’re smiling. Happen to know the answer?”

  “We get jobs,” Marissa replied, still smiling.

  “That’s right. You go out and get jobs, and the weight of the world crushes your spirit. Either way, the brief freedom you had is gone.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Claire called out. She leaned forward on her desk. “Some adults can see them, right?”

  “Sure.” Dr. Byron nodded. “Some adults can swim the English Channel at seventy years old. That doesn’t mean ninety-nine percent of people at that age wouldn’t drown if they tried.”

  “Why can some see and others can’t, then?” she asked.

  “You and Mr. Teams just love trying to poke holes, don’t you?” He glanced at Jack. “At least your interruptions have some logical thought driving them.” Turning to the rest of the class, he continued. “It’s not a bad question. Much as with everything else in this jumbled mess, we only have theories. Neuroscientists understand that our brain is malleable. It is designed to change, to adapt to challenges and overcome conflicts. Lucky for us, since we wouldn’t be able to learn much otherwise. Some adults can see Mythers. I want to be clear here: this isn’t only a matter of belief. Belief is neither necessary nor sufficient by itself.”

  The professor held a hand to his chest. “I believe the Mythers exist, or else I wouldn’t be here. However, I cannot see them. My brain won’t let me. It’s too old, as Mr. Teams put it. Probably it’s too set in its ways, at least for now. Some adults, a very small fraction, don’t have that problem.”

  He paused while Marissa whispered, “I read that when the Europeans arrived at the New World on their giant ships, the natives didn’t see them. They looked right at them, but couldn’t see the ships sailing toward them, not until the ships reached the shore. Their brains simply couldn’t compute what they were seeing because it was so far beyond anything they knew to be true.”

  “I’ve heard that story too,” Dr. Byron answered, his voice low. He shook his head. “You’re tricking me into sounding like you, Ms. Hallor. Some adults can see them, but the vast majority can’t. Unless what?”

  An alarm started going off before anyone got a chance to answer. Dr. Byron’s phone suddenly began vibrating on the table.

  “Ah!” He chuckled as he made his way over to retrieve it. “Trying this new technology to see if it helps. Did you all know your phones have alarms on them?”

  He looked up with a grin on his face.

  “Did you like that, Mr. Teams? An old person joke for you.” He put his phone into his pocket. “Okay, we’re going to pick up there at our next class. Go forth and do your best to be somebody or something.”

  Chapter Seven

  Claire opened her eyes when the hand covered her mouth. A scream bubbled up in her throat; she was certain she was only seconds from dying—

  “Shhh, lass. It’s only yer good buddy Frank. See?”

  Frank’s green face filled Claire’s vision. “You don’t want to wake your roommate.” He glanced at Marissa, still sleeping soundly in her bed.

  “Frank!” Claire whispered harshly. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “Checking out the new digs, lass.” Frank straightened and slowly turned around, eyeing the room. “I must say, this isn’t much better than where you were before, Claire.” He completed his circle and looked down at her bed, grinning wildly. “I thought you were coming up, not falling down?”

  “Frank, you’ve got to get out of here!” Claire sat up in bed, pulling the covers around her. “You know where you are? This place is the training ground for killing creatures like you!”

  Frank looked into the air in mock exasperation. “Oh, Zeus, here we go again. This wee lass telling me about the business of staying alive.” He turned back to the bed. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I found a twenty-four-hour bowling spot we can hit.”

  Claire shook her head. “No. I’ve got class tomorrow. I’m not about to ruin all this by sneaking out with you.”

  “Class, schmlass,” Frank said with a wave of his hand. He grabbed the edge of the blanket and yanked it off.

  Claire glared at him. “You’re lucky I’ve got clothes on, or you’d be flying out the window right now. You can’t just teleport in here whenever you feel like it!” Claire moved her head to check on Marissa when she let out a tiny snore. She was still asleep.

  “The mouth on this one!” Frank danced in indignation, bouncing from one foot to the other. “Do ye think I’m likely to take orders from ye? No, lass, Frank is a free leprechaun. I do no one’s bidding but me own. Now, enough with the jibber-jabber. We’ve got some bowling to do, me lady.”

  Frank wasn’t lying. The scoundrel had scouted out a twenty-four-hour bowling alley in downtown Boston. There’d been some more arguing before they’d left, mainly consisting of how Claire was going to get out of the university.

  Frank had a solution. “I could teleport us outta here?”

  “If I end up in some kind of alternate universe, or behind the Veil, for that matter, I’m going to strangle you,” Claire told him.

  Frank winked. “Sure, and how’ll ye get back again if you do?”

  Well, it was hard to argue with that.

  Claire had seen Frank teleport before, but she’d never experienced it. Her body felt very light for a second, as if she weighed no more than a feather, and then everything got very, very fuzzy.

  The next thing she knew, she was staring at a Porsche on the side of the road.

  “Ye got new digs, Frank got a new car.” He still had hold of her wrist. He looked up at her and winked.

  Claire stared at the vehicle, her eyes wide. She was unsure if she was more shocked that she just teleported out of the university or was looking at a car Frank couldn’t afford if his life depended on it. “You robbed me for beer money, and now you’re telling me you’ve got a Porsche?”

  Frank reached into his pocket and pulled out a single key. “Yes, lass. Ye may be falling down, but Frank is on the come up. I told you, Boston is the place for an ambitious leprechaun. Now, enough prattle, let’s take it for a spin.”

  Frank drove like a madman, and the entire time Claire was too worried about vomiting to even consider what was going to happen if someone found out she wasn’t in bed.

  He spun the car into the bowling alley’s parking lot, wheels screeching and smoke rising from the concrete. The vehicle jerked to a stop, and Frank looked at her. “I haven’t gotten my driver’s license yet, but I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

  Claire gripped the door handle, her eyes w
ide. “I’m going to kill you.”

  “You just aren’t cut out for city life, lass. Me, though? I know what I’m doing. Come on, let’s get to bowlin’.” Frank opened the door and hopped out.

  It was amazing that he’d been able to see over the steering wheel and touch the pedals with his feet. He was barely tall enough to see out of the driver’s window.

  Claire looked at the pedals. She wasn’t sure how he’d managed to do it.

  I nearly died, she thought, stepping out of the car and slamming the door. “Frank, that’s the last time I go anywhere with you behind the wheel. Next time, I’m driving.”

  “Hah!” Frank tossed the key into the air with his right hand then grabbed it with his left before pocketing it. “I’ve heard about you women drivers. You’re not very good from the sound of things.”

  “Also,” Claire shook her fist and ran to catch up to the leprechaun marching across the parking lot. “If you make another sexist remark, I’ll cut your balls off.”

  Frank laughed. “Always with the threats!” He hustled through the front door.

  It took a few minutes for Frank to get his bowling shoes and beer.

  Claire was more than grateful the kitchen was still open this late.

  Thank goodness for the stipend they’re giving us, she thought as she ordered fries.

  Frank started bowling. He hit strike after strike, making wisecracks when he came over to sip on his beer.

  Claire thought he was drinking slower than usual, although she didn’t say it. It was good to see Frank. It felt like it’d been longer since they last spoke, probably because of how dramatically different Claire’s life was now.

  Seeing Frank reminded her of home and of the life she’d left behind.

  Frank hit another strike, and the falling pins echoed through the empty bowling alley. He looked over his shoulder, his green lips spread in a smile, then moonwalked back to the table without saying a word.

  She’d seen that move before and acted like she wasn’t impressed, although he did it remarkably well. “Frank, you haven’t been in Boston two months. How did you get a Porsche? Are you wanted for grand theft auto, now?”

  “I’ve changed me ways, lass.” Frank grabbed the tall glass of beer and took another sip. “I no longer commit such horrendous crimes. I’m a stand-up guy and a model citizen.”

  Claire rolled her eyes. “A leprechaun saying they’re a model citizen is like a polar bear claiming to be a vegetarian.” She nodded toward the beer. “Did you also join a sobriety movement? I’ve never seen you drink so little in all the time I’ve known you.”

  Frank placed the beer on the table and stared at it for a second. His ball rolled into the holding area, but he didn’t look at it.

  Claire raised an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

  Frank was quiet for another second, and Claire felt her stomach drop. He’s never been like this, she thought. Not once. Not even after you beat him up for robbing you.

  Claire pointed at Frank. “Frank? I’m gonna need you to start talking. You didn’t just come get me out of my room to bowl, did you?” She then pointed toward the half-full beer. “Because that’s not like you.”

  The leprechaun looked away from the table toward the bowling pins as if he didn’t want to look her in the eyes while he spoke. “I’m worried, lass.”

  “I told you not to come to Boston,” Claire scolded.

  “No, I’m not worried about me.” He finally met her eyes. “I’m worried about you.”

  “Me?” Claire shook her head. She grabbed a fry and chewed it while she considered his confession. “There’s nothing to be worried about with me. I’m surrounded by the FBI. You know who they are, right? Federal Bureau of Investigations. I mean, they pretty much run the USA, for God’s sake.”

  “Sheesh, the wee one is too stubborn to even listen.” Frank sat down and picked his beer up. He eyed it for a second, then set it back down. “For leprechauns, word travels fast in Boston. I’ve heard things, and they’re not good things, lass.”

  Claire frowned, her concern growing deeper with every second Frank refused to spill. “All this gloom and doom and secrecy. Frank, your mouth is twice the size of your whole body, and today you won’t say a word. Just tell me what you called me out here to tell me.”

  Frank stared at his glass as if answers to unvoiced questions might be found in it. “I never knew why I was here. Why I crossed over, you see? I didn’t ask, either, Well, it’s not in my nature. But there are rumors here in Boston about why the Veil was opened. Why us mythical creatures are here. Why we were brought here from our side of the Veil. The media is saying that it’s happening naturally, or when you have a lot of worshippers in certain places. But those are not the only reasons.” He was quiet for a moment, his green face as pensive as Claire had ever seen it. “Someone called us over.”

  Claire raised an eyebrow, her hand pausing in midair before she grabbed another fry. “You want to say that again, Frank?”

  He nodded without looking away from the beer, smiling forlornly. “They didn’t tell you that in class?”

  Claire shot him a sour look. “No, and you’re still not saying much. Tell me what exactly you’re talking about.” Her hand still hovered over the basket of fries, her food completely forgotten.

  Frank placed his hand on the glass but didn’t lift it. “Someone is calling us over. I don’t know why, but we’re not all accidents. The rumors say the summoner is human.” He looked up and met Claire’s gaze. “One of you.”

  Chapter Eight

  Dr. Byron stood in his usual place after all the students had taken their spots. “Mr. Teams, have you had time to think about the question from last class?”

  Claire was exhausted, much more so than usual. She’d half expected to get back to her room last night and find security or someone waiting to escort her right back out. No one had been there, though. Frank had simply teleported her in, then left.

  It had been late, but she hadn’t been able to sleep. Who could, when someone told you something like that?

  She hadn’t mentioned what Frank had told her to Marissa or Jack, and she didn’t think she was going to either. She didn’t know what to expect if word got around that a leprechaun was feeding her information, and more, she didn’t know what to do with the information anyway.

  It wasn’t Claire’s job to know that stuff. It was her job to learn.

  Let’s hope that’s the right decision, she thought. Lives could depend on it.

  “What question was that, Dr. Byron?” Jack asked, shifting in his chair.

  Claire leaned forward and looked at him. He couldn’t be serious.

  Jack didn’t pay her any mind.

  “Your memory is comparable to that of a goldfish, Mr. Teams.” Dr. Byron sighed. “The question was, under what circumstances can adults see Mythers? When do their brains adapt?”

  “Ohhh,” Jack said. He stretched his legs forward and leaned back in his chair. “I thought you were asking a hard question. Adults can see them when they’re about to die.”

  Dr. Byron smiled. “Perhaps your work ethic is not as horribly lacking as I had originally thought. Or perhaps you opened a book for once.” He turned to address the whole class. “Mr. Teams is right. Adults who cannot see have been reported as being able to see when being attacked. Why?”

  Claire raised the hand holding her pen.

  Byron flourished a hand. “Ms. Hinterland. Do enlighten us.”

  Claire tapped her pen absently on her notepad as she spoke. “The brain resists a lot of things, but if someone is nearing death, it reacts. The instinct to survive, to keep the body alive, forces the brain to adapt.”

  “Good answer.” Dr. Byron nodded and walked to the left side of the class. “Let’s say that I am being attacked, and at the moment where I’m in real danger, I gain the ability to see the creature. Let us also say Mr. Teams somehow awakens from his lifetime of apathy and clownsmanship and is able to save me. What happens to my br
ain then? Do I continue to see Mythers? Ms. Drins?”

  “I don’t know,” ‘Ms. Drins answered.

  Dr. Byron looked around the room. “Anyone else have a clue?”

  Jack pointed his thumb to the left. “I bet Marissa does.”

  Dr. Byron glanced at Claire. “Does he not get the same treatment as me for his behavior toward Ms. Hallor?”

  Claire shrugged. “Eh, he’s part of my unit. I give him more leeway.”

  “Fair enough.” Dr. Byron continued his line of questioning. “Ms. Hallor, is he right? Do you have a clue?”

  Marissa went bright red as she spoke. “I think it depends on the person. On their individual mind, and on their age.”

  Claire could tell she wanted to punch Jack in the face for bringing her to attention.

  The professor pressed his fingertips together and smiled. “Tell us more.”

  Marissa continued. “Some people can see them immediately if their minds are more fluid or...adaptable. Others?”

  She shrugged. “Well, it’s not likely they would see the Myther in the first place. Except...there are stories of moms who have lifted cars to save their children. Maybe it’s not all about neurology. To answer the question about continuing to see Mythers, I think they couldn’t do it just anytime. But for that split second, that moment of life and death, they stop kidding themselves and see.”

  Byron nodded with a slight smile. “That’s right, Ms. Hallor. If the person’s mind is set, it’s likely they will not ever see another creature again. Some may be in between those extremes, seeing something every once in a while. We believe those to be in between the ‘seeing’ and non-seeing’ state.”

  “What about people who already see? Like us?” Claire asked, crossing one leg over the other. “Can we ever go back to not seeing?”

  “Hmmm...” Byron raised his hand to his chin and started rubbing. “There’s never been a case of that happening.” He peered out over the class, trying to come up with an answer. “I do not believe any of you will ever return to not seeing. Not when this is all said and done. Once you can see the Mythers all the time, your brain cannot be reverted back. Someone who has only seen one or two Mythers and has not had time to accept them?” He shrugged, dropping his hand down. “I think there’s a good chance their minds would go back to being under society's chains. The answer is, we don’t have the answer yet. However, the Mythers are here, and those who haven’t seen one for themselves won’t be able to deny them forever when their recorded images can be seen by all.”